


All This and Love Too

by MsBluesunflower



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBluesunflower/pseuds/MsBluesunflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll still be there when you remember me.”<br/>For the first time, Bucky isn't so afraid of what the future has in store.</p><p>Or, In which Bucky's memory goes all wrong, but this time they cope with it together. Plus Tony and Bruce being very supportive friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All This and Love Too

**Author's Note:**

> Post Winter Soldier, Fluff/Angst, Hurt/Comfort.  
> A sadistic prompt of mine...in which Bucky's memory goes wrong again.  
> But I promise it'll be okay in the end.  
> 

_Look at the light through the windowpane._

_That means it's noon, that means we're inconsolable._

_\--Scheherazade_

When the bright morning sun shines through the gap in between the curtains, onto the king sized bed, Steve blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the light, before shifting to see his lover wrapped in his arms, still fast asleep.

The newly painted shield that replaced the red star catches Steve’s eye every time he runs his fingers down that metal arm. It gleams in the sunlight, reassuring him that he has Bucky back by his side, and nothing will ever take him away from him again.

Bucky had found him on the street in Brooklyn on a cold winter night three month ago, with all his broken memories back, hurt and confused, like a lost puppy wondering around trying to find his way home. Steve took him in, of course. The first night, Bucky handed Steve his file, insisting that Steve should know who he’d become before deciding whether he wanted him or not.

Steve threw the folder straight into the fireplace and kissed him hard on the lips.

That was when tears started running down Bucky’s cheeks, like all the ice that had been in his veins and in his heart were melting. And it all went from there.

Things started going back to the way the used to be. Two toothbrush glasses sat next to each other by the mirror, and two desks were placed facing each other, one scattered with pencils and unfinished sketches, one with a pile of famous novels published in the last 70 years. Then there was the king sized bed that felt far too soft. They still cuddle so close like they used to in their old bed, thinking that they might fall off.

Some parts of it, Steve knew, would be inevitably different and he was fine with it, because it was already more than he could’ve ever wanted.

Bucky sleeps like a baby in his arms, now that he is gradually getting rid of the haunting nightmares. Under the covers, their bare skin press against each other, intimate and warm. He strokes Bucky cheek gently with his thumbs, watching the light catches on those long dark lashes, before they flutter open like butterflies.

“Good morning.”

Bucky blinks, bleary and momentarily confused. Steve isn’t expecting a cold and defensive look to suddenly settle in those azure eyes.

 “Bucky?”

He frowned.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

The world turns upside down.

 

You’re my mission.

He can’t quite believe it when he realizes that he’d slept with his target, Captain America, the man that seems extremely familiar and triggersemotions in him. He has no recollection of how he’d ended up in his bed, which is more than frustrating. But he can’t summon any willpower to harm him, to kill, either. The worst part is, it feels right.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The name hurts like a punch to his gut, and those very words sound like something he’s said before, almost a lifetime ago.

It hurts him more, when he sees the incredulous and pained expression on his target’s face when he inches away from him.

“Buck…this is not funny.” The target touches his palm to his cheeks and gazes into his eyes.

He flinches from his touch, despite how natural it seems.

“I’m not trying to be. And stop calling me that, before I make you regret it.”

He scrambles out of that huge, soft bed, quickly throwing on a T-shirt and a pair of pants, turning to leave the room.

“Wait…wait, please don’t go.” It’s a plea, out of sheer desperation and helplessness. The target rushes in front of him, reaching out, wrapping his muscular arms around his waist, trapping him in a tight embrace as if he’s going to vanish. The target’s shaky voice hardly conceals his confusion and helplessness.

His body doesn’t seem to mind, as if they’ve done this for countless times. Their bodies fit like puzzles, and he urgently wants to know why. The answer seems to be drifting somewhere at the back of his mind, yet he fails to grasp it.

“Just give me some time.”

Maybe it’s the only way to make the target voluntarily let him go, or maybe it’s because it’s the only way to reassure him, but he has no idea why hecares, since the very thought disgusts him. The arms loosen around him nonetheless, and he walks pass the target, out of the flat without looking back at the hurt and sadness in his eyes.

 

It’s probably just a reaction caused by some sort of nightmare he was having, a severe form of PTSD, maybe, Steve thinks, desperately trying to settle his own mind.

He can’t. The first time Bucky had said the exact same words, when joy was just bubbling up his chest about having his best friend back, the cold and emotionless voice sent his hopes straight to hell. Bucky had looked at him like an enemy, and Steve doesn’t want to go through that ever again. He doesn’t want him to be tortured by his brain, whether it’s the PTSD or whatever crap Hydra had put him through, Steve wants him safe.

He picks up his cell phone and calls Tony.

 

“What do you mean, he’s talked to you about it?” Steve had to shout, “And would you please turn that damn thing off. ”

Tony’s end is filled with mechanical noises from whatever weird invention he’s now working on. He sighs and tells Jarvis to pause it. The noise quiets down.

“About a month ago, I think, he called and told me that he’d been having memory lapses where he basically goes back to his Soviet assassin mode, usually for from 5 to 10 minutes, sometimes a little bit longer. I asked him whether he was having nightmares, and he said not since, well, he moved in with you. Good work, Cap.”

“Stark.” He warns. He can practically hear Tony’s smirk on the other side.

“Anyway, I then asked if he was having anything like a headache, but apparently being a super soldier makes you free of headaches, so that doesn’t say much. He obviously wouldn’t tell me anything about his sessions with the SHIELD shrink, but based on my knowledge of all the awful experiments Hydra had been conducting on him, it could very well be a part of his PTSD. He’s so used to being the Winter Soldier, Cap, even though he has the memories of himself back, it would be hard for him to be completely rid of that past.”

“I just, I just don’t want any of this for him. We’d thought that it was finally over, but now…and he didn’t tell me any of this.” Steve buries his face with his hands wearily, his broken voice muffled.

“I’m sorry, Cap. Is he back yet? I don’t think letting a soldier with a metal arm who’s currently in assassin mode out in the middle of New York City is a very good idea.” Tony sounds like he’s genuinely a bit worried.

Steve sighs, “Bucky’s not going to kill anyone, Stark. But now I really don’t know if he’s going to remember. I can’t…”

“Based on previous cases, he probably already does,” Tony interjects, “Cap, he just doesn’t know how to face you.” The scientist points out, and Steve can’t deny that it’s most likely true.

“I offered him a thorough brain exam.” Tony continues, “He declined, which was perfectly understandable. But, since I’m the best person in the universe, the offer is still open, as long as you use your charms and talk your boyfriend around.”

Steve can’t help but blush at the word. He mutters his appreciation, and hangs up when the mechanical noise starts again.

He waits for his boyfriend to come home.

 

When he finally comes back at 11 pm, the door is wide open, and Steve is fast asleep on the couch. He steps in and closes the door and quiet as possible, but the supersoldier wakes instantly at the creaking sound.

“Hey.” He smiles at him nervously, “I didn’t kill anyone, in case you were worried.”

“That’s good. You hungry?” Steve shrugs nonchalantly, walking over to the fridge and starting to pull out sandwiches and milk. His steps are a little unsteady.

“Steve.”

He doesn’t turn around.

“Steve, I’m sorry.”

The blond places the food down on the dining table and turns to face him.

“C’mere.”

Bucky steps towards him, without expecting Steve to suddenly tug on his shirt and pull his body flush against his for a fervent kiss. Bucky can’t help putting his hand on the back of the taller man’s neck and presses him further. The way Steve bites on his lower lip and tangles his tongue with his, hot and torturously slow, gives away that Captain America is seriously mad.

“You talked to Stark, didn’t you?” He asks when they finally pulls apart, breathing heavily.

“I was assuming that I had the right to, since somebody decided to abandon me and disappear for an entire day.”

“Gosh, Steve, I’m really sorry.” He can’t help leaning in again to give him another light peck on the lips, his hand lingering on his cheek, and Steve closes his eyes briefly. “What did Stark tell you?”

“How about you tell me the whole story?”

 

They settle down on the couch, Bucky sitting up with a glass of milk in his hand and Steve lying down with his head on Bucky’s lap. It feels funny to Steve, now the couch is not long enough for him to stretch out completely, they still do this like they used to, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s always been there, I guess, ever since I got my memories back. Sometimes there would just be this sudden moment of blankness in my head where I forget where I am, what I’m doing, and all I really know is that I’m the Winter Soldier and I need to finish my missions.”

He frowns when Bucky’s making it sound like such a normal thing.

“And then it starts to last longer, five minutes, or ten. It usually happened when you were on missions or in DC getting briefed, so I managed it alright.”

Steve groans. There’s a rush of guilt in his chest, heavy and intense like it’s about to burst. He imagines all those times where Bucky had to face it alone, confused and scared by his identity, while he’s miles away completely unaware of it. The very thought gives him the urge to punch something.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he sits up, “I could’ve at least be there, Buck.” He reaches for Bucky’s metal hand and laces their fingers together, despite Bucky’s effort to flinch from him, squeezing it gently.

“And what? Let me try to kill you?”

He doesn’t know how to protest.

“What about today, then? Was it different?”

“It was…unusual,” Bucky swallows, “It lasted for an hour at least. I was sort of wondering around, like I was trying to find something that could help me remember. When I walked passed that alley you got beat up one time, it came back to me.”

“There’s gotta be something we can do about this. This is what I’m here for, right?” His hand comes up to cradle Bucky’s face, gentle and careful, as if he’s made of glass, “I’m not going to watch you fight alone.”

“Steve, I’ve already put you through enough.” Bucky shakes his head and smiles woefully, “Maybe it’s some PTSD shit, the Winter Soldier part of me trying to take over, to make me a killing machine again and all that shrink talk. I can handle that. But they're right, that part of me is a monster. I guess I just don’t want you to see it, and I sure as hell don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Bucky, I don’t care…”

“I’m gonna win this battle or die trying, Steve.” Bucky stops him, his gaze soft and promising, “And if there’s one thing that could last me through this, it’s the idea that I don’t want to forget about you ever again.”

There’s determination written on Bucky face that reminds Steve of the time when he vowed to follow Captain America into the jaws of death. But then he looks down and laughs darkly, “But, my trial for taking all those innocent lives is overdue, and losing you might just be my curse.”

 “Don’t do this to yourself.”

He leans closer, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s, close enough to see his lips trembling and hear his uneven breathing. Steve hates to see Bucky like this, doing everything to stay tough when he’s nothing but shattered pieces inside, punishing himself for a crime when he’s the victim. Steve hates how even though he’s Captain America, the national hero, even though he has superpowers to save the world, he can’t protect that one person he loves the most.

 

“Tony offered a brain examination, Buck. I know why you wouldn’t want to, but maybe he can give you a proper diagnosis and help you with it…I just can’t bear sitting here, watching you suffer when I know there might be a way out.”

It’s a plea that Bucky doesn’t know how to refuse. He pulls away to look at his lover in the eye, and the worry and anxiety he finds in those turquoise pools breaks his heart, if he still has one.

He swallows his fear and cowardice and makes the decision.

 “Okay.” He nods.

He wraps an arm around Steve’s broad shoulder, leaning in for a long, languid kiss.

It starts raining outside.

 

They wait impatiently outside Tony’s lab when he’s busy analyzing the results of a series of complicated tests. Bucky takes his hand and laces their fingers together when Steve starts tapping his feet involuntarily, unable to conceal his anxiety.

Tony had been extremely considerate and kind, despite his unsuppressed urge to tease them for acting like a 90-year-old newly wed couple. When Tony was done hooking all sorts of wires and detectors to a helmet and put it on Bucky’s head, he gave him a slap on the shoulder and grinned.

“Calm down, buddy, whatever it is, it’ll be fine.”

Buck smiled back at him, and Steve almost believed that he was sincere.

However, Tony was surprised when he asked for something to bite on, before it dawned on him and he frantically uttered some complicated explanations about the equipment and promised that it wouldn’t hurt at all. Bucky nodded numbly, yet when Tony walked over to the monitor to press the button, he looked as if he was going on a battlefield alone against a legion of enemies.

Steve sat by him, holding his hand and would not let go. There were a thousand needles at the bottom his heart, pricking on that softest spot.

They left the room after it was done, letting Tony concentrate on the analysis process. Jarvis even sent them some coffee and food.

“It’s weird to think that we knew his dad. Are we really that old?” Bucky muses, and Steve doesn’t even try to laugh at it. “C’mon Steve, stop worrying about me. You are the one that I had to worry about all the time.”

“Yeah, I guess now I’ll be paying you back for the rest of my life.”

Bucky smiles sincerely this time, the light in his eyes as beautiful as the Coney Island fireworks. And for a second Steve actually lets go of his doubts and thinks it’ll all be fine.

But when the door to the lab finally opens, and Iron Man doesn’t bother to put on his signature grin, Steve's heart sinks.

“Cap, Barnes, we need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._

_These, our bodies, possessed by light._

_Tell me we’ll never get used to it._

_\--Scheherazade_

“Mr. Barnes, the results show that your brain, due to the excessive brainwashing Hydra forcefully conducted on you over the years, has been severely damaged.”

“Okay, Stark, I think I know that pretty well, so you better stop this doctor shit and get to the point.” Bucky rolls his eyes at Tony, earning him an elbow nudge from Steve.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him, concerned, “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“Stark, just tell us what you know. ”

Iron Man takes in a deep breath and rubs his eyes.

“It might be better for Bruce to do this because he’s better than me at this brain stuff…but, based on my knowledge of your condition and the data analysis, it appears that your brain has been wiping itself.”

“What?” There’s an incredulous look on Steve’s face and he almost stands up. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder.

The shock at first is a pang on his heart. Then it begins to hurt as if a .44 caliber just went right through. He hasn’t been expecting any less, really. It’s his trial. It’s what he deserves. But it still makes him angry, so angry. He’s waited so long to know what it feels like to be able to think of those vivid images from the past, to feel the strange nostalgia when he listens to 40s music, and to fully understand what Steve really means to him. He desperately wants to keep his memory hidden, ingrain it deeply into his bones, and make it flow in his bloodstream, so that maybe, just maybe they will stop trying to take it away from him.

And now, he’s taking it from himself, because fate likes cruel jokes.

Bucky tries to put on an emotionless face. He nods at Tony, gesturing him to continue.

“Those forced memory wipes were far too often, and the damage in your head is so much more serious than I’d imagined. They must’ve been losing their effects on you so the programming was made to be stronger and thus even more harmful to your brain.”

“Yeah,” He swallows hard, “It was because I remembered him.”

He can almost hear Steve gritting his teeth, his fist tightened as if he’s ready to take out what’s left of Hydra all at once. Bucky feels warmth rushing in his chest, and for a second reality doesn’t seem so cruel.

“Well, like I said, now your brain has adopted this pattern—an instinct almost—to wipe your memory at random times. I have no idea what sets it off, but it seems to be growing stronger each day now that you haven’t been machine wiped in a while. I can’t predict where this is going. It might be temporary, or it might continue to screw up your Hippocampus entirely…” The honesty in his eyes reminds Bucky of Howard, “I’m sorry, buddy. ”

“Any possibly solution?” Steve manages, his voice strained, his hands fisting his hair painfully.

“Dr. Banner and I have been working on a brain regeneration technology. It’s something SHIELD has been wanting for a while. It should be able to cure this once it’s perfected. I really only take care of the machinery part…” Tony seems to be trying really hard not to sound defeated, “It’s not finished.”

“It’s fine. Thanks, Tony.” He says, more genuine than he imagined. Steve does not hesitate to take his hand as they turn to leave.

When they’re completely out of the door, a voice behind him shouts,

“I’ll call Bruce. Give us two weeks!”

 

When Steve finds him later that night in a bar in Queens, presumably after looking through half of New York City, he’s on his fifth Black Russian. He’d told Steve that he was going to the coffee shop by the corner, and Steve believed him, or pretended that he did.

He doesn’t get drunk easy anymore, ever since he became the Winter Soldier and his metabolism got all screwed up. But he isn’t like Steve, who doesn’t get drunk at all. As long as he keeps shoving strong drinks down his throat, he has some time, before his system could get rid of the alcohol in his body, to be hazy and numb to pain and emotions.

Feeling is a painful thing. Loving someone is even more.

There’s a wolf whistle in the crowd when Steve enters the bar, wearing a plain white shirt and jeans. Bucky is sitting in the corner, watching Steve searching through the crowd on the dance floor, an exhausted, anxious look on his face.

It’s some vintage themed night, and the music switches into an Ella Fitzgerald song.

Bucky finishes off his drink in one gulp and meets Steve in the middle of the dance floor.

Steve’s facial expression softens immediately when Bucky appears before him, like a child who has lost his favorite toy accidentally finding it again. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Come home with me?”

“But before that,” He glances around and slowly pulls on his charming smirk—maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s that 30s song giving him nostalgia. His human hand is stretched out, inviting, “May I?”

 

“May I?”

Steve remembers all those times, before the war, when he and Bucky would sometimes go to the club together. Bucky would say that to the pretty dames, with that dazzling grin on his face, his hand a polite invitation gesture. They would giggle and put their hands in his, walking onto the dance floor. Steve would watch, a heavy weight of emotions that he could not define crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe.

And then there’s the dance he owed Peggy Carter that simply never came true.

But it was never about them. It was never he and Bucky in each other’s arms, rocking to the music with nobody staring, nobody criticizing.

This time, they stand together in the middle of the dance floor among the noisy young crowd, as if time’s gone still.

“Bucky, I can’t dance.”

“Isn’t that what I’m here for?

He takes his hand.

 

After two songs, Steve still steps on Bucky’s feet constantly and keeps saying sorry when he does. Bucky laughs, glad that some things are still the same.

No one in the crowd seems to care about two men awkwardly dancing to Fly Me to the Moon. Some girls glance at them and make a disappointed remark, “All the hot guys are with hot guys already.”

“Why are you doing this, Bucky?” Steve asks him, and it wasn’t even a question, his eyes sad and penetrating like he could see right through him.

“I’ve always wanted to but we never got the chance.” He shrugs nonchalantly, his head bent low trying to avoid Steve’s gaze, “And, you know, while I still have the chance.”

He’s like an old man diagnosed with stage IV cancer and can do nothing but to ignore its existence and simply _live_. He wants to do things before they become one of his regrets, and that includes asking Steve for a dance. He remembers how desperately he’d wanted, back in the old days, to take his hand and hold him close for the world to see

“Listen to me, Bucky.” They come to a halt, while the music is still playing and the crowd still cheerful and loud. Steve sighs, exasperated, “You’re not allowed to give up like this. Have some faith in Tony, will you? He’s _Howard’s_ son, he can make anything happen. And Bruce is one of the best scientists in the world, too. They’ll figure it out.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond.

“Tell me you believe me, tell me you know this is not the last time.” He presses.

He remains silent for a beat, before yielding to the hope in Steve’s voice. He tries to smile and makes the promise,

“I believe you. And I’ll make sure this isn’t the last time.”

 “Good. You know, I went through half of New York City, so you better make it up to me tonight.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Steve’s eyes, despite he looks like he’s on the verge of bursting into tears. In that moment Bucky’s reminded of how much he loves this man, this little kid from Brooklyn who had become his entire world. He reaches out to Steve, placing his hand on the back of his neck and pulling him in for a heated kiss. The taller man responds passionately, his hands griping at Bucky’s sides, his extremely talented tongue finding its way to seduce him until Bucky groans under his breath.

The crowd doesn’t seem to mind their PDA. Some are whistling, some shooting them appreciative glances, some even a little bit jealous. Bucky decides that he likes this future, he likes being alive and he likes having Steve right next to him, close enough to touch, to hug, to kiss. He doesn’t deserve it, but he likes it all too much to give up on himself without putting up a fight.

When they finally part, panting heavily, he whispers in Steve’s ears,

“Let’s go home.”

 

In the two weeks they wait, it all goes down.

Steve avoids big missions as much as possible, but sometimes he would come home to an empty apartment, Bucky nowhere to be found. Hours later, he comes back, sometimes drenched from the pouring rain, sometimes with torn clothes and bare feet. And Steve would always have food and warm milk waiting on the table, a blanket in his hands. He does his best to smile at Bucky when the door opens and says nothing.

Sometimes it happens when Steve is home. Bucky would wake up not knowing who he is, just like last time. But Steve begs him to stay in the house, and Bucky would stand in a corner of the living room for hours, his eyes hollow and unfocused. Steve would leave him alone, occupying himself with work or some new sketches, absent-minded while he watches Bucky out of the corner of his eye, his heart dripping blood.

“You want him back, don’t you?” The Winter Soldier says one day, out of the blue, after he’s remained silent in the dark for hours.

“I’m sorry?” Steve probes, carefully.

“The one you’ve known all your life, the one who wouldn’t betray you, the one who doesn’t struggle with himself.” He continues dreamily, without looking at Steve, “You want your hero back, not this wreck that’s left.”

“No, Bucky,” Steve calls his name, stepping closer to touch him on the shoulder gently, trying not to provoke him,

“I don’t want a hero. I want you, in whatever shape or form.”

When he recovers from it a minute later, suddenly bursting into tears and clutching onto Steve tightly as if it’s the only way to keep him there, Steve holds onto him, assuring him that he doesn’t need to.

Bucky’s afraid of falling asleep now, knowing that he might wake up to a blank brain, and the sadness Steve’s blue eyes. And Steve kisses him, whispering against his lips,

“I’ll still be there when you remember me.”

Steve knows he can’t fight this battle for him. He can’t cover the grenade with his own body to protect Bucky this time, because the grenade is Bucky himself.

But Steve doesn’t mind standing right next to that grenade, and if it explodes and obliterates everything in its wake, he wouldn’t even budge.

 

At the end of the second week, Bucky wonders if he should start a diary for himself. In the event that he loses his memories again, he might be able to read this and be reminded.

He decides that it’s better than nothing.

He pulls out a leather bound journal Steve never used and grabs a pencil, trying to think of a way to start. He writes:

_Your Name: James Buchanan Barnes_

_Your Birthplace: Brooklyn, NY_

It’s the only way he can think of, and first page ends up being a file, not much different from the one HYDRA has of him. It’s so incredibly ironic that he barely resists the urge to tear the whole thing into pieces.

So he begins again on the next page, tapping the other end of the pencil on the notebook, determined to write down the first thing that comes to mind instead of attempting to find the starting point.

_Steve Rogers used to be a short, scrawny little guy before be became the great Captain America. He’s the best, bravest man that you’ve ever known. You lived together in Brooklyn before the war. It was the worst and the best of days._

_He draws, and you’re always in his sketches. You wish you could draw too, so that you can show him how gorgeous he is. You went to Coney Island together once. The fireworks were magnificent but not as bright as his eyes._

_……_

_But he did become Captain America, and you freaked out because maybe he just didn’t need you anymore. You saw the way he looked at Peggy, and you thought you didn’t stand a chance. All those years you’d been bringing him bad dates, thinking that the two of you would continue to be what you’d always been, and you could keep him forever. It hurt like a bitch, watching him fall in love with a person that wasn’t you._

_But you were the one he kissed right before the mission that killed you, and it was more than enough._

_……_

_It wasn’t accepted back then, but nobody seems to mind now. He cares about you so much and you don’t understand why. You’re just a wreck now, a sinner with hands that can never be rid of blood. Maybe he thinks he owes you, holding himself responsible for what happened to you seventy years ago. But it wasn’t his fault. If you could choose again, you’d still follow him onto that train._

_You promised him that you would be with him until the end of the line._

_You love him. How could you not? He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, even though you really don’t deserve him. But you hurt him so that you’re willing to spend the rest of your life making it up to him._

_……_

_If he’s carefully observing you from his desk, he’s trying to give you space. This has been happening for a while, almost every day, and he’s suffering more than you are. Try, think, remember, talk to him, but don’t yell at him._

_……_

_No matter how out of control you are, please don’t hurt him._

He exhales a shaky breath, a sob trapped in his throat. It’s weird to write to himself about things he never dared to speak out loud. He’s so focused that he doesn’t even notice Steve walking up behind him until he speaks, his voice broken and hesitant,

“Bucky, Dr. Banner called.”

 

“It's a fifty-fifty chance, Cap. We can recover the brain damage, but the memory part is extremely unstable. If he undergoes this, he might just lose all of it. ” Bruce had said on the phone, his voice filled of regret, “I’m sorry that we can’t improve it any further.”

50% chance of a blank memory.

It isn’t bad as Steve thought it would be, but it hits him, moments later, that Bucky might just forget him completely this time.

And he doesn’t know if he can live through that all over again.

But he when he stands silently behind Bucky, unsure of what to tell him, he glances at the words he writes, and they just about break him. Steve’s seen the way the Winter Soldier fights on the battlefield, brutal and reckless, completely ignoring of his own survival. But this time Bucky fights with his heart on the line, he fights for a chance to really _live_ , and Steve wants him to have it no matter the cost.

Even if it means he’ll lose Bucky all over again.

But when he sits Bucky down and explains it to him, Bucky says, his voice trembling with distress,

“No, Steve, I can’t do this.”

Steve frowns. It isn’t fear, so he doesn’t understand why.

“Buck, listen, your brain will be healed anyhow, it’s just the matter of…”

“I can’t do it to you again, can I? And this time I won’t recognize you at all, not the faintest memory of what we’ve been through, and definitely not a clue of what you mean to me, unless…”Bucky pauses and swallows hard, lowering his gaze, “Unless that’s what you want.”

“What?” Steve blinks.

“I get it, Steve, I get it. I’ve been such a liability for you, I’m sorry.” He untangles himself from Steve’s embrace, rising to leave.

It takes Steve a minute to digest what Bucky has said, and he stares at him with utter disbelief, unfamiliar pain bubbling up in his chest.

“James Barnes.” He says, closing his eyes briefly, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Bucky stops, but doesn’t face him.

“I love you, Buck, and I can’t remember a time when I don’t. How can I make you understand that I’m not doing this out of guilt? It drove me insane to watch you fall, yes, but it’s a sharp knife in me every day to see you being tortured like this when I thought we got a second chance.”

Steve walks toward him, grabbing him by the shoulder and turns him around, his hands coming up to cradle his face.

“James Barnes, now you listen to me carefully. I don’t want you to forget about me, sure, because that felt like being thrown from heaven down into hell. I want to grow old with you, so we can laugh about how many years we’ve actually lived through, talk about the days that nobody else alive can recall, and tell the world how we’re stuck together for life because even death can’t do us apart. But I’m okay with not having that if it means that you get to have a fresh start, free from your past and your demons.”

Bucky looks shaken and lost, and Steve doesn’t know how to make it better. He does what his instinct tells him.

“If you wake up with all your memories gone, I’ll tell you that you’re James Buchanan Barnes, my best friend, my other half. We’re almost a century old and I’ve been in love with you for a lifetime. But you'll never know about the Winter Soldier. It's a secret I shall keep for you till the end of our lives.”

Bucky doesn’t speak, still, but he blinks rapidly, holding back the tears.

“You know, we can always make new memories. Coney Island is better than it used to be, and I sure won’t throw up on you again. I’ll even court you this time around, if you want.” Steve muses, attempting to lighten up the mood. He threads his fingers in Bucky’s thick dark hair, messing it up a bit. “Besides, it's a 50% percent chance. I've saved your butt with less than that."

That’s precisely when Bucky stops controlling his tears and lets them fall freely. He then breaks into a painfully affectionate smile and leans closer,

“Sometimes I wonder why those girls didn’t fall for you.” Bucky whispers, their lips close enough to touch,

“But I’m glad they didn’t.”

 

That night, they make love like it might just be the last time.

Bucky feels like his soul has been joined to Steve’s for the longest time, maybe since the first time they looked into each other’s eyes. He feels it the strongest when they’re physically connected and nothing can separate them.

They are rough and violent in the beginning, desperately wanting to feel, to be felt, and to _remember_. But when sparks break out in front of Bucky’s eyes, Steve laces his fingers with his, gentle and intimate, Bucky’s soul never felt more complete.

They don’t cry. They kiss under the Brooklyn stars, proclaiming to the world that they live to love.

Steve can’t help biting hard on Bucky’s skin, leaving marks and bruises everywhere, as if then those physical imprints would serve as a solid proof that they exist, and nothing can stop them from _existing_. Bucky, too, studies Steve’s torso slow and careful, trailing soft kisses from the top of his forehead all the way down. It’s a way for him to memorize each curve and weak spot on his lover’s body, making it his muscle memory, ingraining it deep into his bones and not his brain, so that maybe his body won’t lose the memories of Steve if his mind does.

They fall asleep tangled together, all secrets and unspoken words laid bare in the silver moonlight.

Tomorrow comes and they’re still in each other’s arms.

 

Three days later, Steve is sitting by the hospital bed, holding his lover’s hand.

He smiles as he watches the brilliant sunrise. It’s the two of them against the world one more time.

Bucky slowly opens his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is.  
> I left it an open ending, yes, but really both of the two choices are happy endings.  
> So I leave it up to you to make the choice.  
> Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated :)


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